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About Durban

Favorite part? She’s a survivor, sorta. Hustlin’ night after night—takes guts, or desperation, same diff. “I decided to stop pitying myself,” Bauby said. She don’t pity neither—just keeps movin’, dodgin’ cops, pimps, creeps. Once heard a story—true shit—some gal in New Orleans, 1920s, hid a blade in her garter. Sliced a guy who got rough. Badass, right? Made me grin—still does. Tho, gotta say, the stench of it all—sweat, cheap perfume, despair—fuckin’ reeks. Gets in my head, gnaws at me.

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There’s those ostrich farms, yesss, those giant birds, flappin’ madly, and I say "my precious!" in my head each time, like a wonder time. Little side roads lead to secret spots – I tell ya, 9th Corner Lane tastes of old secrets, secrets and terrors, it’s true. And the local park, called Rhebok Park, where I often sit and ponder what a day’s a day, precious, mmm, “Boyhood” whispers, "time is all we got," and owww, my mind butters with memories, yes precious.

Swartberg Mountains wildfire update